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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405401">icebreakers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadizzleRoss/pseuds/SkadizzleRoss'>SkadizzleRoss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>bravery won't drown [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And Then a Second..., Android Elijah Kamski, Android Gavin Reed, Chloe Kamski Being Her Kickass Self, Connor &amp; Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Hank Anderson is Connor and Upgraded Connor | RK900's Parent, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Original Chloe | RT600, Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, POV Upgraded Connor | RK900, reverse au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:02:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadizzleRoss/pseuds/SkadizzleRoss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after helping the Andersons through a tight spot, Chloe Kamski makes good on her promise to look Nines up.</p><p>He wasn't expecting her to turn up at his apartment in Boston, though. And he certainly wasn't expecting the limo.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Chloe | RT600/Upgraded Connor | RK900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>bravery won't drown [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>icebreakers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A little happy ending preview in honor of Rarepair Week :D</p><p>This is set in the aftermath of <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17906636/chapters/42274514">bravery won't drown</a>, but no larger context required; this is just a shameless little fluff one-shot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night Chloe turns up, Nines is on two hours of sleep, staring into a jar of olives like he’s reading tea leaves. His roommate gives the jar a swirl. Nines watches the black flecks and globs float.</p><p>Charlie’s staring at him, waiting for a verdict. Nines pinches at the bridge of his nose. “They still look like olives.”</p><p>“Except they’re pickles.”</p><p>That actually gets him curious enough to look again, but Joe’s hollering, “Rich!” across the townhouse at the top of his lungs.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Did you order a limo?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>By the time he sticks his head around the corner, Joe’s already sauntering back his way. He doesn’t offer more than a, “She says she’s here for you,” apparently satisfied with a job well done.</p><p>“<em>Who?</em>” Nines demands.</p><p>“Limo driver,” Joe says.</p><p> </p><p>The limo driver stands neatly centered in the front door, leaning forward on her toes just enough to examine the small-scale takeout container explosion of the living room.</p><p>Nines begins formally: “I’m sorry, you must have--”</p><p>She tilts her head his way, a couple loose strands of blonde hair escaping the cap. Nines stops dead in his socked feet.</p><p>“The wrong house?” she continues for him, looking him up and down. “Do I?”</p><p>Nines stands there in his boxers and a ratty Gears t-shirt, staring at the Woman of the Century in a too-big chaffeur’s jacket and an absurd pair of aviators. Her jacket sleeves are rolled up at the sleeves by a good foot or so, a wide swath of fabric sagging off of her petite shoulders. She must have borrowed it from the driver.</p><p>Realizing she’s still waiting patiently for an answer, he fumbles for some actual words. “Hi. Hello. Please excuse our current state of existence.” He steps closer to whisper, “<em>Chloe</em>, what are you--”</p><p>“I said I’d look you up sometime,” she answers, damnably calm. “How do you feel about the symphony? Well, doesn’t matter. We’re going.”</p><p>Nines stares.</p><p>“Put some pants on. I’ll be in the car,” she announces.</p><p>And then she’s dropping down the front steps in a cheerful little jog.</p><p>(It's... a limo. Tinted windows and all, idling on the curb in all its freshly-waxed perfection.)</p><p>Nines lingers in the hallway, feeling like he’s just gotten dropped into some bizarre alternate reality. The one where billionaires turn up in Brighton on a Wednesday evening.</p><p>Seems rude to keep her waiting.</p><p>He wanders around his room for a solid ten minutes, rifling through empty drycleaning bags and trying to find a pair of slacks that’s seen the fewest days in service. He grabs his phone long enough to send Connor a text: <span class="im">&gt; <em>Chloe’s taking me to the symphony. Apparently.</em></span></p><p>Connor answers while he’s dropping down the stairs two at a time. <span class="im">&gt;&gt;  <em>At least let her buy you dinner first.</em></span></p><p><span class="im">&gt; <em>I hope she likes pubs,</em></span> Nines answers.</p><p>Gavin’s the one to reply, and nearly instantly: <span class="im">&gt;&gt; <em>Is Eli there? You have to take him to that place with all the shit on the walls. I want a picture of his face.</em></span></p><p>He rolls his eyes, leaving Gavin on ‘Read’. He can see the two of them perfectly: sprawled on the living room couch, gossiping like housewives.</p><p>The limo door slides open as Nines steps onto the sidewalk. Nines has to bend in half to get through the door.</p><p>Eli's present and accounted for, sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s fussing with the sleeves on his reclaimed jacket, chasing out some folds.  With a prod of his thumb, the right sleeve lights up blue.</p><p>He’s never seen Elijah wear the insignia, before. But he’s never seen him outside of Chloe’s mansion or clandestine meetings, either.</p><p>Chloe’s sitting on the far bench, legs crossed demurely. Nines shuffles his awkward, doubled-over way to the bench adjacent to her.</p><p>She’s dressed in an MIT t-shirt and jeans, not quite on par with his law school wear. Catching his stare, she explains, “We’ll head to my place first, change into something more formal.”</p><p>“More formal than--?” Nines glances at his own suit and tie. Not a perfectly tailored fit, but he likes to think he does alright with off-the-rack business casual. He escaped his dad’s sense of fashion, at the very least.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I already found you something,” Chloe says. “Not that I don’t like the tie.”</p><p>There’s some unwritten law that whenever Nines is in a rush, the only ties on hand are ones that Connor bought for him. His brother takes a certain sadistic glee in gifting Nines the loudest patterns he can find, ones he himself would never wear out on the job.</p><p>(Connor’s argument was, “You’re a student, you can do what you want. Plus-- don’t lawyers want to be noticed?”</p><p>“I think art nouveau goldfish brings the wrong kind of attention.”)</p><p>The colors are muted enough that he hoped Chloe wouldn’t notice. No such luck. Now that the limo’s begun to move, his options are to throw it out a window or live with it.</p><p>Failing to see any obvious window controls, he decides on the latter.</p><p>“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Chloe says.</p><p>“Studying,” he lies.</p><p>“I’m sure you can catch up,” she says dismissively. “I thought this would give you less time to be nervous.”</p><p>“Why would I be nervous?” Nines says, even as he’s trapping his hands in his lap.</p><p>Chloe cedes the point with a nod. “For the spontaneity, then.” Then she shrugs off a bit of the formality, waving a hand, her words coming a little faster: “Well, that and I was bored. Do you want a drink? Champagne, wine, beer--”</p><p>“Gin and scotch,” Elijah adds from the front.</p><p>Nines relaxes back. “Oh-- wine is fine. Red, I guess. Is he even driving?”</p><p>“No, he just likes the hat.”</p><p>“I don’t trust automated systems on these roads,” Eli refines.</p><p>Nines jumps when the wine glass appears at his elbow, emerging from some hidden panel with silver filigree fingers gripping the stem.</p><p>He takes it delicately, wondering if he’s supposed to thank the limo or Eli or neither.</p><p>Gavin does tend to take offense over being associated with the Roomba, so he opts for neither.</p><p>It’s good wine, though. Something oaky, slightly chilled to cut the acidity.</p><p>“So when you say ‘your place’--”</p><p>“There’s an apartment here I use occasionally. The biotech folks here call me out for consultations and such. I usually tell them no, but now I have a good reason to visit.”</p><p>Nines drinks a little faster to hide the blush on his cheeks.</p><p>Chloe’s pleased smile doesn’t help.</p><p> </p><p>The ‘apartment’ is a penthouse with sweeping views of downtown. Nines stands at a floor to ceiling window, staring at the Prudential Center, his phone in hand.</p><p>Connor sent three thumbs up emoji in a row. Gavin said, <span class="im">&gt;&gt; <em>If you need me to distract the nanny-bot, just say the word.</em></span></p><p>Honestly he’s equal parts curious and afraid of what the GV200’s idea of a distraction is. His best guess is something involving Chloe’s mansion and a carton of eggs. Maybe some toilet paper.</p><p>“Mr. Anderson,” Elijah interjects gravely, calling his attention off the skyline.</p><p>Elijah shows him into what he presumes to be a guest bedroom, done out in minimalist something-or-other. Nines reads the shop name scripted elegantly across the garment bag laid out across the bed and blanches. “Tell me that’s rented.”</p><p>“I don’t believe they do rentals. It should fit nicely, though.”</p><p>Nines shuts the door on Eli before he can think any more deeply about Chloe’s butler guesstimating his inseam.</p><p>The bedroom has a bathroom en suite, thankfully. He strips out of his jacket and shaves off a few days of scruff, straightens out his hair as much as it agrees to be.</p><p>The - very, <em>very</em> nice suit - is black tie formal, the fabric cutting a tight angle across his shoulders.</p><p>It’s well-fitted, he’ll give Elijah that.</p><p>It takes him three tries with the bowtie, but he gets a reasonable symmetry in the end. The pocket square is a rich burgundy, so dark it almost fades into the black.</p><p>Against Chloe’s skin, it’s nearly luminescent. She’s waiting for him in a dress like spilled wine, flowing around her as she steps forward and considers Nines with a less than subtle appraisal.</p><p>“It’s a nice suit,” he admits. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Thank you for indulging me.” she replies coolly, sliding a pair of diamond-bright pendant earrings into place.</p><p>“And you look - amazing, obviously--” he stumbles.</p><p>Chloe dismisses him with a wave of her hand.  “The symphony starts-- well, whenever we arrive, really. Where would you like to eat, after? Eli should be able to get us a table wherever. Someone was recommending a sushi place--”</p><p>“Tako?” Nines guesses. One of his Harvard-snob classmates has been talking about it for months, loudly debating the merits of murder to get a place on the waiting list.</p><p>He watches in amazement as Chloe nods along cheerfully. “Right! That one.”</p><p>His first thought is: <em>Like I can say no to that. </em>The gloating rights alone.</p><p>
  
</p><p>His second thought is the suit, and this insane penthouse suite, and what he’s beginning to worry is some kind of <em>private</em> audience with the symphony--</p><p>So he’s blurting out, “I’ve heard it’s... good.”</p><p>“But,” Chloe supplies, when he lags a second too long.</p><p>“How about a trade,” he says. “Symphony first, and then dinner and drinks at a place I know.”</p><p>Chloe considers, then nods along. “It’s a deal.”</p><p> </p><p>They stand together in a private elevator, descending what Nines guesses to be 60 or so floors. There’s no buttons, just wall-to-wall mirrors. Plenty of angles for Nines to consider that he’s standing in an elevator with Chloe Kamski, in a suit that likely costs a month’s tuition minimum.</p><p>“So since this is a date--” Nines hazards, just to drag his attention off Elijah staring at the back of his head.</p><p>“It’s an ambush,” Chloe corrects.</p><p>“Right. Well, normally - on a date, mind you - people ask questions. Icebreakers and the like.”</p><p>“Icebreakers,” Chloe replies. “Such as?”</p><p>“Well, what’s your favorite food, that kind of thing--”</p><p>“Pizza,” she answers rapidly. “A Neopolitan place in Ohio.”</p><p>“Huh.” <em>Ohio.</em> “Where’d you grow up?”</p><p>“You could look that up on my Wikipedia page.”</p><p>“...right.” </p><p>It feels like a bad time to pull out his phone.</p><p>“My turn,” Chloe says, as they climb back into the limousine. “Eli, what’s an icebreaker?”</p><p>“’What were you like as a kid?’” Eli recites, no doubt pulling off of some internet article.</p><p>“I made my dad address me as ‘Richard’, I feel like that explains a lot,” Nines says.</p><p>Chloe grins, amused. “No ‘Rich’ or ‘Richie’, hm.”</p><p>“Absolutely not. Not that that stopped him, of course. He <em>did</em> explicitly reserve ‘Richie’ for when I was in trouble.”</p><p>“Which was often, I’m sure.”</p><p>“Mm. I got threatened with detention once for keeping a book out of the library for too long.”</p><p>Chloe laughs. “Practically a felon.”</p><p>“I talked them down to a warning,” he explains. “What about you? Same question.”</p><p>“I was-- insufferable,” Chloe answers. “I shoved a bunch of admissions paperwork at my grandmother when I was 14, showed her where to sign. When I told her I was going to college, she told me, ‘Have fun.’”</p><p>“Did you?”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“Have fun,” Nines elaborates.</p><p>“I came out of it as a CEO at 16,” Chloe says.</p><p>“Now, <em>that</em> I could’ve read on your Wikipedia page.”</p><p>She graciously refines her answer: “I met a few grad students that were willing to entertain me. Some professors that granted me some benign negligence. Space was all I needed, and they gave it to me.”</p><p>For a moment Nines is looking through the luxury surrounding them, past the name and his own strange familiar-unfamiliar past with Chloe Kamski.</p><p>He’s regarding a slight woman keeping a steady gaze on her own reflection. But what he sees are the iron gates he and Amanda had pulled up to on a February morning: this carefully engineered thing, waiting in amongst the trees.</p><p> </p><p>“Pet peeves,” Nines says, as they step through the back doors of the symphony hall.</p><p>“Country music,” Chloe answers promptly.</p><p>“Country music,” Nines deadpans.</p><p>“I am ever-vigilant for anything involving a washboard,” Elijah says, as he waves them past a <em>Balcony Closed This Performance</em> sign.</p><p>Nines offers an arm to help her up the thickly carpeted stairs. Chloe openly considers refusing, but then she’s hooking an arm carefully through, light as a feather. Nines dutifully ignores the quick burst of electricity running up his arm in turn. He’s one boutineer away from feeling like he’s back at prom night.</p><p>“Dirty dishes,” he answers in turn.</p><p>“Oh, no.”</p><p>“Yeah. I live with two law students. My life is hell.”</p><p>“Thus the takeout containers.”</p><p>“Straight into a trashbag, it’s all I can trust those animals with.”</p><p>Nines is halfway expecting Elijah to lead them up into a private booth like something out of <em>Phantom of the Opera</em>, but they actually end up stepping out onto the lower balcony, the stage spread out in full below them.</p><p>There’s a crowd downstairs, which Nines finds somewhat comforting. He couldn’t possibly clap hard enough to sate the egos of a hundred world-class musicians puttering around, arranging instruments.</p><p>The marquee out front hadn’t had anything listed for tonight. This is some kind of private event, and the people below are dressed the part. Black tie and ballgowns, but all kept at a careful vertical distance from Chloe Kamski and her entourage of two. The mezzanine is all theirs.</p><p>Chloe opts for first row seats, which provides just enough leg room for Nines to bump his knees against the wall. </p><p>“Can you fit?” Chloe says.</p><p>“Can you see?” Nines retorts.</p><p>That startles a wicked grin out of her. “If I sat in your lap, maybe.”</p><p>(Their ponytailed escort keeps a respectful three rows back and to the right.</p><p>Maintaining constant vigilance for bluegrass, Nines supposes.)</p><p>They keep talking while they wait for the lights to dim. Small, idle things. Chloe’s as sharp-tongued and quick as he remembered, taking a particular delight in backing him into a corner when she can. Always angling for another blush, he suspects.</p><p>Once the lights fall and the symphony begins, Nines finds it isn’t a piece he knows. It starts out bombastic, the high strings climbing and climbing before crashing back into the piano and bass. But the rest of the piece is slow, methodical, the notes swinging lower and lower still. </p><p>It’s rigidly minimalist, every note distinct - enough to have him worrying about his second choice. </p><p>But considering the way he keeps catching her staring sidelong at him more than the stage, he doesn’t think it will be a problem.</p><p> </p><p>“I thought we could take an autocab,” Nines says, once the lights come back up. “If it won’t offend the driver.”</p><p>“Are you trying to ditch my chaperone?” Chloe muses.</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>She considers only briefly before announcing, “Accepted. You will have to clear your mysterious destination with him, though.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s an autocab idling at the back door when they step out into the damp night. Elijah still doesn’t look particularly <em>happy</em> about it, but he lets the door fall shut and steps back, hands folded before him.</p><p>Nines doesn’t take it personal. He’s well aware of how deviants can be with their chosen humans.</p><p>Chloe watches with curiosity as they drift out of downtown, out along the winding banks of the Charles River and west, apartment buildings lapsing into clustered townhouses into refurbished warehouses.</p><p>The autocab glides to a stop at a brick building, lit only with a single overhead light. The weathered advertisements on the facade says something about Tack &amp; Feed.</p><p>“I thought a limo might be a little-- noticeable,” he explains.</p><p>Chloe glances around the street, lined with cars ranging from fossil-fueled to derelict. “You’re right, we wouldn’t want to startle the locals.” She squints up at the shuttered door as they step into a pool of overhead light.</p><p>There’s the faintest suggestion of music spilling under the door, just enough to obviously pique her interest. They cross a mosaic floor to a small office where a bored hostess in 1920s secretary-garb waits in a sea of vintage filing cabinets.</p><p>“We’re here for the provisions,” Nines recites, a little stilted as usual.</p><p>The hostess regards him blandly over her cats eye glasses, before she’s seeing Chloe and lighting up. “Ah!”</p><p>Nines feels Chloe tense beneath his arm, but the woman’s lunging across the desk to pass a small broach Chloe’s way, some intricate embroidered costume jewelry, still wrapped in plastic. “On the house, it’s flapper night,” she explains. “<em>Excellent</em> dress, by the way.”</p><p>It’s a hair pin, dangling silver and pearls, a few artful dyed-black feathers. Nines secures it just above her ear. Chloe shares a private smile Nines’ way, as she plucks at his pocket square in turn, shaking it loose.</p><p>“There,” he announces. “Dressed the part.”</p><p>“As are you,” Chloe says, tucking the square back in as a messy pop of color.</p><p>The hostess rolls a few filing cabinets aside. Music drifts up from the open staircase in rambling brassy tones.</p><p>“Enjoy, folks,” the hostess says, either blissfully unaware or tactfully unperturbed by who just walked through the door.</p><p>They find a table for two in the dim of the tiny speakeasy-style venue, far enough from the music to hear themselves talk, close enough to brush elbows with the occasional enthusiastic dancer.</p><p>They order small plates and talk as much as the jazz music allows. The four-piece band is a sharp contrast to the earlier music. Energetic harmonies and disharmonies, jumping and searching - a lively conversation in saxophone and trumpet and piano, where the symphony had been more like a soliloquy. The occasional repeated refrain drawing the crowd in, getting them stomping their feet.</p><p>Nines nearly jumps out of his seat at Chloe’s voice in his ear: “‘Love for every note.’”</p><p>He turns his head and nearly slams into her face. She had to get halfway out of her seat to be heard. </p><p>She’s <em>close</em>, blues and burgundies and a taste of sandalwood in the semi-dark. </p><p>“What was that?” Nines says faintly.</p><p>“Arvo Pärt, the composer we were listening to tonight,” Chloe says. She jabs his arm with her elbow, goading him into lifting it up and draping it over her shoulders. </p><p>She settles into the crook of his arm easily, talking all the while: “That was his whole ethos. ‘Love for every note.’”</p><p>This is the Chloe he knows, <em>wants </em>to know more: easy in her own skin, a confidence bordering on blunt. He doesn’t think he’ll ever shake the wonderment of someone like her - fierce and sharp - seeking out someone like him.</p><p>He catches her fingers in his own, nods along as the saxophone chases the trumpet up through a spiral, finding each note and twisting it into something new. “This is a… different take on the concept.”</p><p>“Very,” Chloe answers. “Good things come out of spontaneous actions and reactions, you know.”</p><p>“And how spontaneous was all this?”</p><p>“Hm, roughly-- 67%,” Chloe replies, reaching for another olive.</p><p>The only interruption in Chloe’s good humor comes when their human waitress trades with a VS400 for their after-meal drink orders. The android’s gaze never lingers overlong on his creator, but she’s sitting up, pulling away from Nines.</p><p>Nines waits for him to depart before he asks, “I’m sorry. Do you prefer not to--”</p><p>“They’re unavoidable,” she says, as she taps something out rapidly on her phone. “Don’t worry about it, Elijah will ensure there’s no record of me being here.”</p><p>“Here with me?” </p><p>Nines regrets the reflex question as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Chloe freezes, her fingers pinched around a cocktail napkin. She pins the corner down in a ring of moisture and looks up steadily. “I don’t like news, particularly of the gossiping variety. But don’t worry about it. Elijah’s very good at what he does.”</p><p>“I did the spotlight thing for a couple months and I couldn’t stand it,” Nines says. “You’ll never be out of it, will you?”</p><p>Chloe smiles thinly. “It’s a slow process, vanishing into thin air. But I’ve made some progress.” She tips her martini glass towards the crowd. “Not a single person staring at me, tonight.”</p><p>“Except me,” Nines blurts out. It sounded far more suave in his head.</p><p>The bowtie must earn him a little leeway. Chloe settles back into him, teasing, “They’d never suspect that Boston University’s most felonious law student is right here, in this very basement.”</p><p>“Hey, it was a warning. The librarian initialed her little notebook and everything.”</p><p>“Mm. Only she and I know the true measure of your sins now, Richard Anderson.”</p><p>For all the butterflies he’s been feeling since Chloe Kamski turned up on his doorstep, it’s surprisingly easy, bending to catch her lips with his own.</p><p>“You taste like pimento,” he says, and Chloe laughs, open and honest. Safe here, tucked into shadows, into him.</p><p>She steals a swig of his cocktail. “Let’s try that again, shall we.”</p><p>The second time, it’s mint and lime, the graze of her fingers up his thigh. After that, he loses count.</p><p> </p><p>The return to the penthouse is--</p><p>Chaotic.</p><p>The fact that Nines makes it back to her place with his pants still <em>on</em> is nothing short of a miracle, but he’s certainly ruining the perfect lines of his tailoring by the time the autocab is coming to a stop and Chloe’s wandering hands are retreating back to above his beltline.</p><p>Chloe walks the concrete of the garage from the departing autocab to the waiting elevator in a lazy saunter, her heels dangling from her hand. Those, she tosses down in one corner of the elevator as Nines sags against the mirrored wall. He eyes the blank elevator wall nervously as the doors close and it begins to rise without a suggestion. “Do I need to worry about decorum?” </p><p>“Oh, no, Elijah’s retired for the evening.” She’s showing a line of thigh that has Nines shifting uncomfortably yet again. She brushes an escaped tangle of hair back behind the feathers before she’s pinning Nines against the wall with a hand to his chest, her expression gravely serious. “Alright, one last question.”</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>“How do you get ‘Dick’ from Richard?” she deadpans.</p><p>She doesn’t last more than a beat of Nines’ astonished stare before she’s grinning like a madwoman and answering herself: “You ask him nicely.”</p><p>Nines drops his head back with a groan. “You’ve been waiting all night for that, haven’t you.”</p><p>“<em>Weeks,</em>” she says, and then she’s rucking up her skirt and pouncing on him.</p><p> </p><p>+++</p><p> </p><p>Three days later, Nines returns home from school to find a pine crate leaning against the door. There's a single bottle of wine nestled inside. It’s a bland white label from a place he’s never heard of; turns out it’s double his age and direct from a dusty French wine cellar.</p><p>Also, it costs about three months’ rent, which Connor gets a good laugh out of.</p><p>Nines doesn’t mind, once he’s over the initial horror. It gives him an excuse to text the new private number in his cell phone. <span class="im">&gt; <em>You could’ve sent flowers.</em></span></p><p class="im">
  &gt;&gt; <em>I debated. Did Eli pick something nice?</em>
</p><p class="im">
  &gt; <em>Very. But it’d be a shame not to share it.</em>
</p><p>The prompt reply leaves Nines smiling like a fool.</p><p class="im">
  &gt;&gt; <em>That could be arranged.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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